Mindshift
by Sunburned-Stickperson
Summary: Desmond finds himself back in Solomon's Temple, and the Apple is doing everything it can to keep him from coming back.
1. Chapter 1

**Kukuku... Do the AUs ever end? I happened to like this one a lot. Enjoy.**

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><p>The Apple hadn't liked that. Desmond had been sent on a mission, had a bit of spare time to play with the Apple, and now, here he was, trapped in his own mind—in King Solomon's Temple. He regretted stabbing Lucy, but sending him on a mission seemed a little harsh. As he blinked and looked around, he felt his skin crawling. Looking down, he saw goosebumps forming at the chilly air, and he gazed around a second time. There were several bodies strewn over the ground, and he frowned when he thought he recognized one. There shouldn't be bodies in King Solomon's Temple if he was reliving the memory. Pacing over—and trying to ignore the crawling sensation—Desmond knelt by one of them, then leaped back in surprised.<p>

"K-Kadar?"

The body lay there, beaten and mutilated, and Desmond realized his eyes weren't even closed. The skin was shriveled and stretched around the bones since the bodily fluids had evaporated, but the cool air in the temple had prevented decay. With a frown, he closed the eyelids.

"I'm so sorry Altair did that," he murmured and startled when he heard his own voice.

He looked at his hands—they were his hands, his clothes, his hidden blade and tattoo. His gun was still strapped to his side with his two extra clips, and his Iphone was still in his pocket. His sneakers were still his. His skin was still his. He was still him, staring at the aftermath of the temple several years after it had happened.

He looked back at the body of the young man. The clothes were bloodied and ruined. He winced. Perhaps he should give the poor man a decent burial. It wasn't like he was going anywhere any time fast. Looking around, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dark with the help of his Eagle Vision, he found a shovel lying next to one of the dead Templars. He padded over and picked it up.

He started digging. And he kept digging until there was a large hole in the ground and the top of his head was level with the rest of the ground—which then he knew was six feet deep. He popped out and stripped off the ruined tunic and underclothing, leaving him in his pants. He took off his hoodie and stripped from his undershirt, freezing, to put the undershirt on the man, He hurried back into his hoodie and licked a clean spot on the old tunic to gently clean the body. It was disgusting to the touch, but he felt as if he had to give the poor boy a "funeral."

"I'm really sorry, Kadar. I still have nightmares about leaving you to die, and I wasn't even there."

He took his time, shivering in the cold air. It was cold now that he wasn't doing physical labor. Eventually, he had the bloodied body cleaned and "presentable," and he picked it up, almost dropping it at how disgusting it felt. He started pouring the dirt back over it, and then realized the others needed a grave, too. He went to each of the three other bodies and shut their eyes before dragging them to the makeshift grave.

One of them still had clothes in good condition, and he stripped the body and changed, feeling warmer in the layered clothing. He put his pants on the man, feeling sorry for poor Templar. At least their clothes were comfortable. He strapped on the weapons and dressed him in Kadar's soiled shirt before dumping the body into the grave. Desmond stuffed his hoodie into his backpack with the Iphone and reequipped his gun, clips, and backpack. He started filling the hole again. When he was done, he was panting and sweating, and he realized he still had to label the grave. He found a chisel, or something close, and scrawled in the stone walls: "Kadar Al-Sayf and three unknown Templar knights. Rest in peace."

Satisfied with his work, Desmond stepped back and pulled out his phone, turning it on and taking a snap shot of the grave. He looked at the picture and frowned when a misty blob had appeared on the grave. It seemed to be human, sitting and staring at him.

"Kadar?" he whispered before taking one more shot and turning off his phone.

"Damnit!" he yelled, realizing he had forgotten to give Kadar back his weapons after changing his shirt.

He picked up the shovel again, fully ready to redig the grave when the misty figure appeared. He yelped and scrambled back, shielding himself as it walked forward.

"L-leave me alone! Pl-please! I've buried you, Kadar! Don't harm me!"

The image of Kadar paused by his unburied weapons, looking down at them.

"I-I know! I was just about to give them back to you!"

It gestured to something in the pile. When Desmond failed to respond, it gestured again. He lowered his arms and walked over, trembling. He hated ghosts. No more horror films, no matter what Rebecca tried to talk him into. He stopped next to the ghost and watched it bend over, gesturing to something in the pile. Hesitantly, trying to ignore the crawling feeling, he reached to where pointing, and found a small ragdoll. It wasn't anything of value, but it was a cute little thing. He met Kadar's gaze, and the ghost gestured to it.

"You-you want me to take this?"

The ghost nodded once.

"And give it to your brother?"

It seemed logical, but Kadar shook his head, smiling and gesturing to Desmond.

"Keep it?"

Kadar nodded, still smiling, and ran a hand over his eyes.

"For closing your… Putting you to rest."

The ghost nodded again, gesturing to the sword at his side.

"I'm not giving up the sword: I have to have something to defend myself with, and–"

He paused when Kadar gestured to the novice's long sword. It was beautiful, and it wasn't something a novice would've had.

"That was your brother's, wasn't it?" he asked as he tucked the small ragdoll into his Templar uniform.

"Do you want me to give it to him?"

Kadar shook his head.

"You want me to use it?"

The ghost nodded. Hesitantly, he strapped the better sword on in place of the Templar sword.

"Thank you."

Kadar shook his head and reached out, and he trembled when the misty finger touched him. Nevertheless, he found himself smiling as Kadar vanished slowly. He was glad, too, that through the training of the Animus he had gained both Altair's and Ezio's abilities, and that with Lucy, he had developed them. He felt confident he could take on anything.

"Hello?" came an old man's voice.

He jumped and looked to the entrance of the room, watching a light shine through.

"In here!" he yelled, scrambling over to the ladders and hopping up.

"Who's there?"

"My name is Desmond Miles: I come in peace!"

"You certainly don't look like it."

He paused at the top of the ladders to find an old man standing there with a torch. He smiled. "Sorry, I got lost in here, and I couldn't find my way out. If you help me out, I'll work for you."

There was silence as he watched the old man. Finally, the old man laughed. "I thought you were a Templar. Those men have no work ethic. Who are you, Desmond?"

Desmond was surprised. "I'm, uh, did you know of the treasure in these mines?"

The old man wrinkled his brow. "Yes, my brother and I paced these shafts many times until he was murdered."

He winced. "I'm sorry for your loss."

He hadn't even realized he was speaking Arabic. Perhaps the Bleeding Effect had a few good aspects.

"But the treasure in these mines transported me here."

The little old man laughed. "You are a strange man, Mister Desmond. You'd best not let anyone else hear that story."

He bowed his head shamefully. "Sorry, I know it doesn't make any sense."

He raised his head when the old man put a hand on his arm. "I can tell you are a good boy. You have no place to go, do you?"

Desmond shook his head. "How do you know I'm not lying?"

The old man chuckled and turned around. "With old age comes many benefits. Follow me. I will give you a place to stay in return for your blade. The guards have been heckling me as of late—"

"I can take care of them!" Desmond scoffed and jogged up to the old man's side. "And that's all you want?"

"I am moving to Jerusalem to be with my daughter."

"Oh… You want an escort?"

"Exactly, and in return, I will give you room and board."

Desmond pursed his lips. "So you have no idea if I'm really a good man, but you know I can wield a blade."

The old man chuckled and looked at him as they walked along. "Son, I have no idea about your back story. I do not know if you speak the truth, or what it could mean. But, I can tell you are a strong young man with a good heart. You would not have buried those bodies which have been dead for several years now if you were not a good man. I saw the grave. I also know that you would not pick up a blade unless you could fight, and your build speaks of much training."

Desmond found himself smiling warmly as he walked with the man. They climbed down the ladder and over a small bridge. "Well, thank you. I'm really lost. I don't know how I got here."

"It will be a pleasure it have you: I am sure. As for your first task, you can help me finish packing. I do not own much, but I own entirely too much for an old man like myself."

"I never caught your name, forgive me for being so blunt."

"My name is Basil Allaw, but you may call me 'granddad,' if you wish."

Desmond smiled at the old man, who smiled back. He was amazed at how fluent his Arabic was still. "Are you sure? I never had a grandfather."

"Then by all means, call me 'granddad.'"

"Okay, granddad."

He grinned at the word. He liked it, and he liked the man. He was lucky. As they walked out of the mines, he pulled out the small ragdoll, rubbing a finger against its face. It looked slightly like Malik, except this one had two arms and was dressed in assassin's robes.

"That is an adorable doll," the old man said as he hobbled over to his horse. "Can you help me up?"

Desmond nodded and gave him a lift onto the horse.

"My! Strong indeed!"

Desmond laughed and mounted a spare horse off to the side. "The doll was a gift from a friend."

The old man nodded sagely. "Hold onto it tightly, then, child."

The young man agreed, taking one last look at it and tucking it away. He smiled. After half an hour of riding, they approached a small house on the outskirts of the town. A group of guards was standing outside. They must be looking for trouble. As they approached, the guards turned and smirked at the old man, freezing when they noticed Desmond. The horses stopped in front of the guards, and the group knelt. They were the Sunni Muslim guards.

"S-sir."

Desmond realized they were addressing him. He glanced at his uniform: the Knights were higher rank. He smirked. When the guards looked at him hesitantly, he wiped the smirk from his face and growled, "Who gave you permission to leave your post?"

"N-no one, sir."

"Then why are you here? I'm feeling generous, and if you can get back to your posts in twenty seconds, I won't report you. One…"

The guards split, and Desmond laughed once they were out of earshot.

"Thank God! These guys are as dumb as me!"

He hopped off the horse and helped the old man down. "You should pray to Allah for forgiveness for lying."

He shrugged. "I'm sorry, Granddad, but I don't believe in Allah."

The old man looked scandalized. "You believe in the Christian god?"

"I don't believe in any god. If there was a god, he'd make this world a better place with his 'magical powers.' Anyway, I'm a good liar. That's the only way I'm still alive today."

The old man scrutinized him, then pursed his lips. "Come, we will put the horses up, then pack. Tomorrow we leave."

He nodded and followed the old man's lead. When he walked inside, most of the furniture was all ready packed, save the largest of it. He felt right at home—a place where the people were not smarter than him, and he could lie his way confidently, so long as he watched his "modernized" habits. As he helped the old man finish getting ready to move, he pondered it.

"It's funny, you know."

The old man looked at him. "What is?"

"I feel more like I belong here than I did back home."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah…"

He was so used to this life all ready that he forgot his other life if he didn't force himself to think of it, and it had only been a matter of hours. He figured if it continued like this, it was only a matter of time before he completely forgot the future. With a shrug, he smiled to himself.

"That wouldn't be a bad thing… No more snarkiness at my not even middle school education, people who can fight like I can, no more 'training sessions' as an excuse to beat me up…"

He shook his head and busied himself with packing. He and the old man slept on the floor that night, and when morning rolled around, he moved all of the things onto the wooden slate and attached it to the horse. It all came naturally as he helped the man onto the animal. He felt so at home here.

"Tell me about where you came from," the old man said as Desmond mounted.

"Sorry, Granddad?"

"Your home?"

Desmond cocked his head and then pursed his lips. "I don't remember much about it. I've been on the run for the longest time. I was captured by an evil corpor—group of men—then was rescued. The lady who rescued me became my family, and we've been chased around ever since. Then I ended up here and… I'm eternally grateful you found me."

"I'm sure you'll prove your worth at the guards' camp up ahead."

He grinned. "I've been trained better than Altair himself. I can take them."

The old man raised an eyebrow. "Better than the legendary 'Great Eagle of Masyaf?'"

He nodded.

"Quite a bold claim."

"I will prove it to you."

"I will wait to see if what you say is true, Great Liar for a Living."

Desmond laughed, and the old man chuckled with him.

"You certainly made a good impression on me with those men from yesterday. You slipped into the commanding role so easily."

"They have a lot of men like me. One rogue liar will easily slip through the ranks."

The old man laughed, and Desmond smiled at his happiness. It had been long time since he felt like this. Between Shaun's constant bitching and all the stress from his training, it had been a long time since he had laughed. He grinned as their horses plodded along, carrying the small amount of stuff the poor guy had.

"Where are you moving in Jerusalem?"

"My daughter lives in the rich district."

He nodded. "Okay! Jerusalem is a beautiful city."

"But the people are not so sometimes."

He laughed. It was high noon before they entered the guards' encampment. The Crusaders nodded at him as they passed, and when they entered the heart, one of the cooks flagged them.

"Are you hungry, sirs?"

Desmond's stomach rumbled in response, and the cook laughed. They were served, and he and the old man ate with the men as their horses were tended to.

"Pardon me for asking, sir," one of them started.

Desmond nodded.

"But I don't remember seeing you. You seem awfully young to be a Templar knight."

"I was a special case because of my talent."

The group nodded as if they had seen it a million times.

"May I ask a question?" another asked.

"Go ahead."

"Why are you not at your post?"

He chuckled. "I asked for leave to help move my granddad to Jerusalem."

"The city of the Muslims?" one of them exclaimed.

Desmond nodded. "Crazy, I know, but I will be able to access the inside of Jerusalem that way."

They were silent for several minutes, and he smiled at his "granddad" when he felt a hand on his leg.

Then, "I guess that proves why you're ranked so high. I never would have thought of that."

Desmond was surprised, then, he smiled. He wasn't used to such a compliment. Shaun would have berated him for other parts of the lie he hadn't thought of yet. He finished his meal before another spoke.

"Permission to speak?"

"Granted."

"You must have been promoted recently, yes?"

"Yeah."

"I wondered."

"Why?"

"Most of the Knights would not give us the time of day. They just boss us around and guard their precious boxes, only to be killed from behind by the damn assassin Altair."

Desmond laughed. "Yes, I was promoted very recently."

"I'm jealous."

He looked over his shoulder at the sound of someone approaching. A Templar Knight, dressed just like him, one of those sixty he had killed in the memories, approached him.

"Why are you wasting your time talking to these men? They are not worth your time."

"I was letting my granddad rest."

"Off with you, scum. Leave the Knight alone."

Desmond raised an eyebrow as they filed off slowly. He frowned but held his tongue as the Knight sat down.

"Where is your helmet?"

"I lost it in a fight. It was ruined beyond repair."

"Who could you have fought to ruin headgear like that?"

Without thinking, "Altair, the Great Assassin."

The Knight exploded into laughter, drawing the attention of everyone around. Desmond scowled. Finally, the Knight stopped laughing.

"He has killed many of our men. How can you claim to have beaten him if you are still wet behind ears?"

"There is a reason I was promoted so young."

"Prove it. Fight me."

The Templar Knight rose, and Desmond's scowl deepened. "Why? Is my word not enough?"

"I find it hard to believe." He turned to the camp. "Listen here! This man claims to have beaten the Altair Ibn-La'Ahad, when we have lost thousands of men to him! I think he should fight to prove his claim, don't you?"

A moment of silence before a loud cheer went up through the crowd. Desmond rose and snarled. "I got this scar on my lips as proof, and soon, I will have my blade at your throat!"

There was a loud clash as the Knight's and Desmond's longswords met. A loud cheer went through the Crusaders, and he almost felt bad as he snarled at the Templar Knight, swirling around as he dodge a blow and striking him with the hilt on the back.

It was a short fight. A few strikes, and it was over. Desmond had one foot planted firmly on the man's chest, and his sword at the Knight's throat. It took every ounce of control in him not kill the man. There was a mighty cheer from the others, and Desmond jerked back. The Knight scrambled to his feet and took off his headpiece, bowing on his knee and holding it out.

"I believe you. Here: I would be honored if you would use my helmet for your safety."

He stuck the sword in the ground and looked at it, forcing his words: "I could not endanger the safety of a brother in the Knights Templar."

"You are of far greater worth than I, sir."

Desmond reluctantly took the helmet when his granddad nodded for him to. "Rise. I am not that much better."

"You underestimate yourself, good knight," the man said as he rose. The Templar clasped a hand on his shoulder. "I am honored to fight beside a man as strong as you."

Desmond smiled, and the two hugged briefly. He honestly felt as if he were at home. Perhaps stealing the man's clothes in the temple was the best thing he had ever done. He grinned as the others crowded around him to ask him questions.

"Is that really how you got your scar?"

"Was he fierce?"

"Could you see his movements at all?"

"How hard did he hit?"

"How did he escape?"

Desmond laughed. They spent the rest of the evening camped outside of Acre, and he built for himself an incredible lie, but it was still easier to keep track of than back before he was kidnapped. When night rolled around, he found himself given an extra set of clothes and a full stomach. He was treated extraordinarily here. His "Granddad" was lying beside him.

"You did a good job."

He looked at the man from his bedroll. "Thanks."

The old man smiled. "Thank you, Desmond. For protecting me."

He smiled. "It's no problem, Granddad. I feel really lucky to be here."

He fell asleep with a smile, feeling more at home than he had in a long time. He woke with the drum call early that morning. He dressed and checked on the old man before crawling out of the tent. He helped tend to the horses, bumping heads with his horse. It nickered softly and stomped at the ground. He laughed and rubbed its neck.

"Be a good girl, Belle."

He felt a page come up beside him. "Belle?"

He looked at the page. "It's a girl, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, but… you're always switching horses. Why get attached?"

Desmond smiled. "Learn to love all you can, when you can. You never know when it will be taken from you."

The page tilted his head.

"I fell in love with a woman named Lucy. I don't know how's she doing, or if she's even alive."

The page nodded and petted his horse. "The guards are talking about creating a squad for you and your grandfather."

"Really?"

"They are amazed by your feats, and they hope you will train them."

He looked at the young man, watching his barely-held excitement.

"They also say you will have several apprentices accompany you."

Desmond smirked. "Really?"

"Yes, sir."

He grabbed the apprentice in a headlock and laughed when he yelped. The boy struggled to get out of his grip, laughing as Desmond poked his stomach.

"Are all of you novices this squishy in the stomach?"

The young man was kicking and flailing in the headlock, laughing hysterically as he struggled to answer.

"Well?"

"Y-yes, s-s-sir!"

He smirked as the young man dissolved in a fit of laughter, held in Desmond's headlock as he mercilessly tickled him.

"What's your name, kiddo?"

"T-T-Timmmoth-thy!"

"Tttimmmoththy?"

"N-no!" The young man took a huge gulp of breath before shrieking when Desmond got him in the sides.

"Oh, you're really ticklish here, Tttimmmoththy?"

He kicked out like a horse, laughing as he tried to get away. Eventually, Desmond relented and smirked as the young man fell on his rump, scrabbling back a few paces.

"It's Timothy!"

"Oh, Timothy. That makes more sense."

His horse stomped its foot and snorted, and he patted her nuzzle before turning and walking back into the camp. Timothy practically danced out of his way, and many of the nearby Crusaders were watching curiously. Desmond jogged back to the tent and helped his "Granddad" get ready before leading him to a log and fetching them breakfast. He decided not to wear the helmet yet.

After they ate, he thanked the men profusely and hopped on his horse. Both were ready to go. It took an extra hour to convince them not to take an entire escort with them. The two rode off shortly after camp was in full swing, and he sighed, stretching when they were out of sight and headed toward Jerusalem. He breathed in, inhaling the scent of the old world. It felt great.

"You have quite the reputation a head of you. Do not think it has not been spreading like wildfire."

Desmond let his arms down into a stiff shrug, still stretching.

"Eventually, even King Richard and Altair may hear of it."

"One step at a time, Granddad. Everything happens one step at a time."

The old gave him a serious look as he shook like a dog.

"I'm still trying to get use to being here."

"You will cause yourself much trouble."

Desmond scowled. "I've been in deeper shit. Like when I was kidnapped and forced to do weird shit for—"

"Watch your language."

"Right, sorry, Granddad. I just feel… good here. Like I can do this." He leaned forward on his horse. "My head hasn't felt this clear in so long. I used to see all kinds of things. Here, my mind is clear, and I don't see anything anymore. I'll fight whatever comes. They didn't kill me when they hunted me down, and they won't be able to kill me now."

"You are arrogant."

Desmond looked at him sadly. "No, not really. I know I could die. I know there's a really good chance I'll wind up dead with this lie I'm weaving, but I could die happy here even if I was captured and tortured for years. I feel so good here."

The old man shook his head. "You are an odd one."

"I am not from this century."

"Right, right, with the treasure from the temple, correct?"

Desmond nodded. They rode in silence to Jerusalem, and he enjoyed the old man's company. His rumor preceded him wherever he went, and he was exalted like a god. He didn't particularly care for the rumor, but it was necessary. It took several days to get there, and every morning, he checked the gun, helped with the horses, and rode with the old man. Desmond never said it, but he was becoming incredibly attached to him. He loved the silent company, the sage advice he'd sometimes give, or the compliments on his fighting style—which he owed entirely to Lucy and Ezio. The old man, while worried for his sake with the rumor, seemed to enjoy the attention as they passed safely into the gates of Jerusalem.

"Incredible!" the old man whispered to him. "To think we got in without any hassle from the guards!"

"See?" Desmond said as they rode through the market. "It was worth the lie to get you here safe. You helped me out majorly."

"Majorly?"

"Big time. A lot. That means I owe you my life, pretty much."

"So this is the man who claimed to beat the great Altair Ibn-La'Ahad?"

He looked to see Malik standing in front of them, several paces off. He was scowling. Something nagged in the corner of his mind, and he became aware of the small doll in his tunic. Shocked, Desmond pulled out the small ragdoll and ran his fingers over it.

"Where did you get that!"

He held it up, realizing the marketplace had cleared out. He laughed at the likeness. "It looks just like you."

"Where did you get that?" Malik growled.

"It was a gift from a man I put to peace."

Malik's eyes narrowed. Desmond held it out, and the one-armed man stepped forward, reaching out and touching it.

"You put him to peace?"

"I gave him a burial. Then the old man found me, and I volunteered to help him move."

He hopped down from the horse. Malik ran his fingers over the soft cloth head, feeling the hair on its head. He barely heard the man whisper, "You look like Altair."

"Apple, I'm his ancestor," he mouthed.

Desmond saw his jaw clench as he withdrew his hand. "Your sword belonged to me, once."

"I know. Kadar told me."

"Altair watches you."

"I kinda figured. He's usually with you."

"Novice." He laughed at the hint of pink on Malik's cheeks as dai turned and paced away. "Do not think you will get away with your claims. Altair will hunt and fight you."

Desmond smirked. "I can take him."

Malik looked over his shoulder when he was at the edge of the market, something between a smirk and a smile on his lips. "I look forward to it."

Desmond found himself grinning as he hopped onto the horse. As they trotted off, he heard Malik shout, "And take care of that sword and doll, or I will get you before Altair does!"

They traveled to the northwest corner of the rich district, and arrived at a small house. A young woman came running out.

"Papa! You've arrived! I thought for sure it would take you several weeks with all the Christian soldiers at Acre!"

Desmond hopped off and helped the old man down. The old man smiled proudly. "I happened to come across a very talented young man. He was able to get past the guards with his uniform."

The lady gave him a close once over. "He's a Templar Knight, dad."

"I know—I know. Just trust your father. I've made it here because of his rank."

He helped him carry his things in, working hard in hope they'd let him stay. When they were done, she gave him something to drink. He sipped the glass of water slowly as they talked at the table.

"You abused the power of the Templars? They'll kill you when they find you out, you know."

"I'm okay with that. I'd rather die here than go back to where I was."

"And where was that?"

"It is better not to ask, my dear," Granddad said. "Allah has acted in strange ways, but it has been a blessing for us. Do not question what he graces us with."

Desmond smirked. "Sorry, ma'am. I don't think you would understand it."

She gave him a suspicious stare. "And you're not a Templar Knight?"

"Not really, no, but my other clothes didn't blend in, and these were the closest thing I could find."

"Not many people have the chance to say that."

He chuckled and polished off the water. The woman refilled the glass, and he had three more before he wasn't thirsty. He took a back seat in the conversation, worrying more about the fear knotting his stomach. Malik wasn't kidding: he was fully expecting to fight Altair. Perhaps he should go visit him again.

"—we have to move to the middle district. We've got quite a bit of debt—"

"Granddad," Desmond said, rising.

The old man looked at him. "Yes?"

"Can I go out and about? I'll be careful. I know how sneaky assassins can be."

The old man pursed his lips. "I would feel better if you didn't, but a young man like you will surely get bored while we talk. Go ahead, but I want no tales of fights with others."

He nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Scat. We will figure out what to do with you while you're gone. Be back before sunset; although, I suppose as a Knight, you don't have to worry about that."

He smiled and put on the helmet he set by the door. Slipping out, he felt remarkably concealed in his Templar Knight uniform. He knew there was a graveyard around here somewhere, and if he could find that, he could find the treasure chest. He roamed in the northwest corner, climbing up the eagle point to find it. It was hard to avoid the guards as he climbed so they wouldn't get suspicious, but he managed it. In the extreme back corner, he saw the graveyard, and he took off the helmet, holding it close as he performed a leap of faith. He felt his back hit the hay, and he took a bit to enjoy the feeling before getting out, brushing himself off, and slipping the helmet back on. He walked to the graveyard, feeling powerful in his costume. He wondered if the others would freak out when he returned.

He paused in the middle of the street. He remembered the others' faces, but their names eluded him. His hand rested on the hilt of his—Malik's—sword. He didn't understand how he didn't remember his friends from the future. He had only been there a week and a half—mostly due to the guard camps and making new friends in the Templar ranks. He frowned: he should remember their names. It was going to bother him now.

Eventually, he shook his head and shrugged. It wasn't going to help him now. He looked himself over once in full uniform. The gun was tucked neatly into his belt and holster, and his backpack was still around his back. His hidden blade was still on his arm. He set off for the graveyard. When he got there, he waved to the Templar in the corner.

"I've been sent to replace you. The head wants to see you."

The Knight pointed at himself.

"Yeah. I don't know why, but it didn't sound bad."

The Templar nodded and began walking toward him. "Thanks."

When they passed, Desmond grabbed him and sunk the hidden blade deep into his stomach, watching him fall. He grinned in the helmet and walked over to the chest, opening it. His grin spread wider across his lips as he spun his backpack around and unzipped it, creating a nest in his hoodie. He paused when he found a thin black thing. He stared at it, wondering what it was, until it hit him like a ton.

"My iPhone!" he said, setting it aside.

He turned his attention back to the chest, brimming with gold and plans. He grabbed his iPhone. He needed a picture of this, if only he could remember how to turn it on. He fiddled with it for a second before it flickered on, and he frowned. He needed to remember how to do that. After a few second of messing around with it, he got it to take several pictures of the chest and the surroundings. For the man with the glasses, he told himself.

He turned it off and set it to the side, stuffing the small bag with the gold and treasures. He grinned as he packed as much as he could before he zipped it up, picked up the Iphone, and tucked it in by the ragdoll.

"Right, Malik."

He adjusted the heavy weight on his back and ran at the wall, scrabbling for purchase and finding it, crawling quickly up to the roofs. He ran along them, grateful that the Saracen guards paid him no mind. He found his way to the assassin's bureau and jumped in through the top, near jumping out of his skin.

"Die, Templar!"

He drew the longsword and parried the blow. An assassin novice was fighting him. In seconds, he had the poor man pinned. He saw Malik come rushing in, sword in hand, but the blow never came. He kept the novice pinned, watching the dai through the opening in the helmet as he recognized the blade.

"Novice, this man is an ally. You've come sooner than I expected."

"Safety and peace, Malik. I didn't want to sit through them talking about my future. I'd rather wait."

Malik nodded. "Has Altair found you?"

"Not yet. Is he here?"

"No doubt wondering why I have not killed you yet."

He slowly got off the novice and took off the helmet. He wiped the back of his neck and scowled. He was sweating like a dog.

"Follow me. I will get you something to drink."

Desmond followed awkwardly into the other room, taking a seat at the checkerboard. Malik got him a glass of water and sat across from him after attending to the novice. When he was done, he said, "Be gone with you, Novice."

He brought the water pitcher over. "Do you play chess?"

"No," Desmond shook his head. "I'm not that smart."

"Yes, well, your harebrained schemes worked well enough to get you here."

"I'm surprised, but thanks for the compliment."

"It was not a compliment."

"It is to me."

"Tell me about that happened with the Apple, so I will have information to give him."

He let Malik hold the ragdoll as he spoke. Desmond recounted everything he could about his mission, the century he had come from and the Animus, and his journey here.

"You are useless: you can't remember much."

Desmond scratched his head. "I don't know why, though. I've only been here a week and a half. I shouldn't have forgotten the simple things about my world. The only thing I haven't struggled to remember is how to shoot."

"Shoot?"

"A gun. Here."

He took out the gun and explained how it worked, leaving Malik studying it closely. He told him about how he had forgotten how to turn on the Iphone, and they spent well into the night discussing the future. The more they talked, the more Desmond remembered, but it was all fleeting—a brief thought, vanishing the same second he remembered it. Malik dispatched a messenger to inform his Granddad he would be gone all night. At midnight, Malik stretched.

"It sounds like your forgetfulness is not because of you, but because of the Apple. I am sure it has done stranger things, but to erase your memory?"

He saw Malik frown, and he shrugged. "I can't entirely say it's a bad thing. I'm more at home here than in the future, and I've stopped seeing things."

"You're talk of the future is fascinating, but it will do us no good if we cannot think."

He raised an eyebrow when Malik yawned.

"I am tired, and I need to process this information. I will lend you my room to sleep in, so that if an assassin comes in, I will get to him before he to you. Tomorrow, you will tell me more about the Bleeding Effect after breakfast."

Desmond nodded, feeling tired when Malik yawned again.

"If you do not mind, may I hold the doll I made for Kadar—"

"Sure, my first question to him was if it was for you, but he shook his head 'no.' I think he knew it would buy me shaky security."

Malik smiled softly as he gazed at it, and Desmond thought he looked absolutely beautiful in the lantern light.

"Thank you," Malik whispered, closing his fist lightly around the tiny scrap of cloth.

Desmond inhaled sharply when a watery-eyed smile was turned his way.

"It has been so long since I thought about him for fear of my hatred returning. The new Altair does not deserve the same hatred as the old one."

Desmond offered a soft smile. "I'm glad I could bring it to you. He was a cool kid from the memories I lived."

Malik rose, looking back at the doll. "He was a good young man. I miss him terribly."

He followed Malik to his private chambers, where they settled down on the small bed to sleep. He stripped from the armor and the layers of clothing.

"How do they do it?" he muttered.

"Speak up, idiot."

"That's the nicest thing I've been called in while. How do the Templars do their work in these uniforms?"

He shook himself to cool down after peeling off the last layer. He was still sweating slightly, and the moving air felt good on his skin.

"There is a reason why they do not move when they 'work.'"

He took the offered towel from Malik and wiped down with a bowl of water. "Thanks, dude."

"Dude?"

"Uh… means 'friend,' 'brother,' or something like that."

He turned to see Malik lying in his underclothes on the mat. Whatever deity existed had surely lost an angel—of course, he also said that about the blonde woman back home.

"Ah, yes, that must be twenty-first century terminology."

Desmond smirked, and Malik frowned. The younger man stepped back slightly. "Did I do something wrong?"

"You look like that idiot Grand Master when you smirk. Smile. You look better that way."

Desmond was surprised as he settled beside Malik. "Really?"

Malik yawned, and he stretched out beside him in his underpants. Before he could get an answer, he was out cold. He woke at noon the next morning, dressing quickly and walking out.

"You must have worked your brain too much yesterday."

"I agree," Desmond said, stretching.

When he looked back at the man after working the sleep from his muscles—which were thanking him for the relaxed training regime—he saw Malik staring at him, scrutinizing him.

"Yeah?"

"You do not react to my sarcasm and criticism. Even Altair, while it is not anger, does respond, but you agree to it."

Desmond shrugged. "I'm used to it. I get it all the time from glasses man."

"Shaun," Malik said, giving him a once over.

"Yeah, him… how do you know his name?"

"You remembered last night, briefly. Now, I have lunch ready, since you slept right through breakfast, you idiot. Join me and tell me more."

He did as he was told. And they talked well into evening, and Desmond was in the middle of regaling the tale of Lucy's and his escape when Altair strolled in, sword in hand.

"Get out, Templar."

Desmond shot up, hand flying to his sword. Malik stood.

"Stop, Altair. This man is an ally."

"This man claims to have beaten me."

"Sorry, but I had to—"

"Then I challenge you."

"Altair, he should be blue in your Eagle Vision."

"If he claims to have beaten me, he will fight me."

Desmond swallowed.

"We will fight in the marketplace. In front of the guards."

He scowled at Altair's smirk. "You've got to be kidding me."

Malik leaned back on his elbows. "He will attack you if you do not."

Desmond frowned. "When?"

"Now. I will meet you there."

"I still have to drop something off at my family's home!"

"Your clock is ticking."

With a growl, he looked at Malik. "Sorry, but I have to run home."

Malik pulled the little ragdoll out of his robes and handed it to him. "Keep it. Kadar told you to take it for a reason."

Desmond grinned and took it. "Safety and peace. I will see you later."

He zipped past Altair and up the wall to the roofs, running until he dropped in front of his Granddad's house. He walked in, glad to get the heft of the backpack off.

"Granddad?"

"Desmond? I was wondering when you'd come in back!"

"I've got something for you."

He was unloading the backpack when the old man and his daughter came running it. The daughter gasped.

"Where did you get that?"

He gestured to it. "In the chest that the Templar guards just northeast of here in the graveyard. Take it. I hope it pays off your debt."

He watched as they ogled it.

"Granddad, I have to meet someone in the marketplace. I'll be back, okay?"

"Before dinner tonight. I want you home for tonight."

Desmond nodded. "I will be."

He was gone before they could say anything about the gold. After a few seconds, he heard Granddad shout, "Wait, I am coming with you!"

He waited as the older man caught up. "Granddad, I don't want you coming."

"Why not? Who are you meeting?"

He leaned in close. "Altair. He wants a fight."

"Then there is no way I am not coming with you, someone must be there to scrape you from the streets."

Desmond scowled. "Thanks for the confidence booster."

"Didn't you say you could handle it?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, but it doesn't mean I'm not as nervous as Hell."

"I am sure you can do it. I have seen you fight."

He wrapped an arm around the old man's shoulders, walking to the marketplace. When they arrived, he sat the man down and told him not to move from the bench. Then, taking a deep breath, he walked into the center to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a clash of swords as he met Altair's attack from the air. He could feel Ezio stir in the back of his mind as he countered the following blow.

"You'll have to use more than the most basic of moves to win against me," Desmond taunted, parrying another blow.

Altair grunted as he backed off, a smirk on his lips as the people screamed and ran. "What a pleasure to see you again."

Desmond looked away with a pout and laughed when Altair tried to strike. He knocked the sword out of the way and managed to get his side before he heard his own hidden blade slide out to meet Altair's.

"You are better than you appear, my brother," Altair grunted, kicking him in the stomach and sending him backwards.

Desmond rolled out of the way as the Great Eagle smashed into the stone beside him, and he twisted on his back to kick him in the head. They were on their feet in an instant, and their swords together in another, parrying and countering, clanging and ringing throughout the empty market. They seemed to dance all over the ground as they lost and won ground. He was pleased to see Altair struggling as they fought. Desmond yelped when he felt the sword bite into his shoulder through the armor, and he kicked out, connecting solidly with Altair's leg.

The guards at the edge of the market were watching intently. As the fight wore on, he felt himself wearing down. He needed to end this quickly. With a quick glance, he eyed the wall on the other side of the market, ducking and doing a sweeping kick with his leg. He darted to the wall, checking quickly to make sure Altair was behind him. He ran several feet up the wall, Altair following, and he pushed off, leaning back and grabbing Altair's shoulders.

Altair went with the motion, shocked at the way Desmond bent, and Desmond slammed Altair's head into the ground, stunning him long enough for him to pin the man and release the hidden blade against his neck.

"Game over, Altair," he huffed.

The master assassin struggled, and when he realized he had been defeated, he relaxed.

"So what now? You can't kill me."

"No, but I can make it look like it. Trust me?"

"I don't have a choice."

Desmond chuckled breathlessly. "This is gonna hurt, but just act dead."

He reached into the belt and grabbed the gun. He pressed it to Altair's shoulder. Without a second thought, he pulled the trigger and watched the explosion of blood on the other side of the wound. Altair grunted and went limp. Holstering the gun as sneaky as he could, he got up and picked up Altair's body.

"He's dead!"

A roar went up from the people as Desmond struggled to get the body through the crowd. He limped over to his Granddad, the injuries and bruises making themselves known.

"Get out of the way! I need to take him to the doctor's office!"

The crowd parted just enough to let him limp through.

"Give us his body—"

"Let him enjoy the spoils for a minute! Come, Desmond. To the doctor."

They followed him to their house, where he set Altair down gently. "Get Malik and some supplies for surgery, we have to remove the slug."

"Slug?"

"Get Malik and the doctor!" he snarled. "Altair, you're safe now."

He felt Altair stir, and watched his hand clasp the bullet injury. "What was that?"

"A gun. I'll show you how it works later. Just know we're getting the slug out."

"Slug?"

"The bullet. Bullets are like really tiny arrowheads design to rip your skin to shreds."

Altair looked at him with unfocused eyes. A few minutes later, Malik came rushing in with a doctor. Desmond pulled out a bullet from the clip.

"We need to get this out of this wound."

He watched as the doctor removed the bullet and stitched him back together. It was only after Altair was tended to that he even let the doctor touch him.

"You won? Or just shot him with your… weapon?"

"I won, and then I shot him to fake his death."

"And what of the 'body?'"

"It was stolen. A death like his? Totally believable."

Desmond took off his backpack. He dug around for the electronic he had. When he heard a small knock at the door, he jumped up and crumpled on his bad leg.

"I will get it, my grandson. Let the doctor tend to you."

He watched eagerly as the doctor yelled at him to hold still. He bit his cheek till it bled as the doctor stitched up his leg. It took forever, but he was as silent as a mouse the entire time as the doctor poked and prodded, bandaged and wrapped. The most the doctor got was a wince. Granddad came pacing back in a while later, holding his electronic.

"Someone wanted to return this. Said you dropped it."

He nodded. "Thanks. I was gonna go look for it."

He took it and looked at the screen, watching the doctor through the screen. He frowned and lay back. It had been recording for a while. He fiddled with it until it stopped, and he found his way back. His memories of handling the iPhone were fuzzy, but eventually, he found the thing—vidrow, was the word that came to mind, or something akin to that—and watched it. He grinned when he saw it had caught the end. A bad angle, but the man with the glasses would have a good reaction. He felt certain of it.

He fiddled with it to turn it off and put it in his backpack, zipping it up again and gritting his teeth when the doctor prodded his broken rib. It took quite a bit before he was patched up. Altair did quite a number on him, but at least he could finally claim he beat the Grand Master. The doctor made it clear he wasn't allowed to do any hard labor for a while, and he sighed: it was going to be a long time.

"I'm surprised you beat him," Malik said. "You don't look like you could've."

"I get that a lot. I'm too thin; I'm too weak… but I like surprising people." He grinned at the one-armed man, who shook his head.

"Novice."

He closed his eyes. He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he woke up, sore, and the space next to him was empty. He groaned and rolled over, wincing at the pain.

"You're awake."

He cracked an eye to look at his granddad. "Yeah, and I'm really sore."

The old man chuckled. "I'm not surprised. Malik took Altair back to the bureau using a sheet."

"Good. He'll be safer there."

"We've been fending off admirers all day."

"It's nighttime?"

"No, morning. You slept all night. Your fight lasted quite a bit of the day."

He yawned, stretching. When the thread holding his leg together was tugged, he winced.

"The doctor recommended you stay in bed until you heal. Malik said he was going to have problems keeping Altair stationary."

Desmond chuckled. "It'll be hard, but I've gotten good at following orders."

True to his word, Desmond managed to stay in bed for the following week. It helped he had people from far and wide bringing him gifts and adoration for "killing" Altair. There were all kinds of gift: gold, food, and expensive spices that he gave to his Granddad and his daughter, and there were small drawings and toys that kids would bring him. He accepted it all graciously, saving each picture, note, or toy, until there was a small pile by his bed. He would pass the hours stuck on bed rest looking at them. His gun and iPhone lay forgotten in his backpack, which was stuffed under his helmet.

By the end of the week, he was up and helping around the house. He made meals for the family and learned to wash the laundry. The daughter's only child, who was old enough to have married and moved out, came and visited, and not so subtly suggested that she had a friend who was single. Desmond laughed and said that while he wanted to marry, he wasn't ready for kids yet.

He found himself growing lighter and lighter. By the end of the second week confined to the house, he had a permanent place in his granddad's household. By the end of the third week, he felt as if he had been there all his life. He had stepped out onto the streets for the first time in three weeks, and breathed deep of the summer air. It was hot outside, and the uniform he wore did little to help, but he didn't care. The sun felt good on his skin, and the fresh air filled his lungs.

"Desmond."

He turned to see Malik walking toward him. He smiled, feeling so much lighter than before.

"Yeah, Malik?"

"Come with me."

Desmond fell in step beside him, greeting the people on the street and chatting eagerly. When they entered the bureau, he led him back to his room. Altair was sitting up, watching him, with his shoulder still bandaged tightly.

"Malik has told me about you."

Desmond tilted his head, but sat at the end of the bed when the Grand Master motioned for it.

"I have the Apple in Masyaf. You will accompany me there."

"Okay?"

Altair frowned, and Malik sat beside the Grand Master. "Desmond, you're going home."

"I am home," he said, smiling.

"Your home is in the future."

"What?"

"You're an assassin from the future."

"An assassin, yeah, in terms of loyalty, but I don't know where you're getting this future stuff."

"Idiot, how can you not remember your own past?" Malik hissed. "And yet, still remember about the assassins and the Templars?"

"What? No. I've always lived here. Granddad will attest to that if you ask."

"Desmond," Altair began, then fell silent, watching the man.

Desmond stared at Altair, not sure what to think. Finally, Malik growled.

"I told you the Apple was erasing his memories. Why did you not believe me, novice?"

"I didn't think it was possible. I have studied the Apple for several years now."

He watched their banter, getting more and more hopelessly lost with every passing sentence. In all honesty, he didn't know what the Apple was, but he did know he could be a good spy for the assassins, and he was happy here. He didn't understand what they meant when they said he was from the future. He fit right in, and now that he could go out and about, he was planning on finding himself a wife and settling down. Have a litter of kids. Make his granddad proud.

"Desmond, you are not of this time," Altair said calmly.

"Yeah, I am—"

"No. Here." Malik pushed a thin, black thing into his hands.

"What's this? Where'd you get it?"

"You called it an I Phun. Or something like that. It was in your backpack, you idiot. Did you not feel me take it out?"

"It was?" He was turning it in his hand, not really sure what to do with it. He glanced up to see Altair and Malik look at each other.

"You turn it on by pressing the silver bar on the top. You showed me."

He pushed the silver bar on the top and jumped when the screen lit up. "I… Is that me?"

He was staring at the picture of him, dressed in the oddest blue pants. He was with a man with glasses, and a woman with bulbous projections on either ear. He stared at the lady with the blonde hair. She seemed familiar.

"Who are they?"

Malik pointed to each in turn. "You. Shaun. Rebecca. Lucy."

The names stuck as well as oil on water. "Huh?"

Malik ran through them again, and when they still didn't stick, he scowled and looked at Altair.

"So what now? It's clear the Apple is blocking any memory of his past."

"We will simply have to hope we can get him ho—"

"Who was the blonde woman again? She seems familiar."

He felt his chest ache as he looked at her. He touched the screen lightly as if to feel her skin, and Desmond felt as if his heart were tugged on. He felt an odd sort of despair creeping into his mind.

"You were in love with her."

The words didn't stick as he stared at her. Finally, ripping his gaze away, he handed it back to Malik.

"I still don't think I'm from the future."

"Desmond, you need to get…" Malik sighed, frustrated. "You need to go home."

"I am ho—"

"No," Altair said. "You will come with me to Masyaf. You need to go home."

"The question is, how will we get you out?" Malik said. "You are dead."

"I will sneak—"

"There is no way you could with all of the attention to Desmond and your injuries."

"He could be a distraction so that I could sneak out."

"We can try it," Malik said, "but you will have to be extra careful."

"I'll have to talk to Granddad," Desmond said, frowning. "Although, I don't entirely want to go back."

"You have to. It is not your time to be here."

"But…" Desmond sagged. "I've enjoyed myself here. Not the fame and popularity, but I just feel at home here."

"I know, Desmond." He looked when Malik placed his hand on his shoulder. "But you cannot remain. Imagine what those people in the iPhun must be feeling like. You need to return. You called them your family when you told me about them. It would be as if they were losing Kadar."

Desmond looked at his lap. He didn't want to leave, but the odds were stacking against him.

"Fine, I'll go talk to Granddad."

He walked out without another word and went to the house. By the time he arrived, the thought of going back "home" was all ready gone. He spent the rest of the day watching his granddad work. He helped make the meal and do the laundry. He fetched the water for them and enjoyed working with them. As the sun was going down, there was a knock at the door, and Granddad went to open it as Desmond helped his daughter prepare dinner.

"And then, you'll never believe this, Desmond," the woman said, "she claimed that you had never beaten Altair! She thinks it's all a lie!"

"Are you serious?" Desmond responded, grinding the herbs for her.

"Absolutely! And then she had the courage to hint at her daughter being unmarried. I am sorry, but as long as you live under my roof, you will never get married to that witch's daughter."

"I don't want to if her mother's not going to believe me."

"Good. And the dog woman from last time was in the market, too."

"What'd she have to say?" He handed her the bowl of ground up spices.

"Her mothering dog has fallen ill. All the pups caught what she had because of the milk. Poor things will waste away like everyone else in the poor district."

"Wait, if she lives in the poor district, why was she in the rich district's market?"

"I don't know," the woman said as she gave him another herb to grind. "But she's in ruins right now."

Desmond looked upset. "I hope she makes it, and her dogs too."

"Don't we all."

"Desmond…"

He looked to see Granddad standing in the doorway. "Yes, Granddad?"

"What's this about you leaving us?"

He was confused. "Huh?"

"I was worried that would happen."

He saw Malik and Altair walk into the house. "What's this all about?"

"Earlier, we discussed you going back to your time. Remember?" Malik said, frowning.

He thought for a while, and handed the ground herb to the daughter before shaking his head. "No. I don't."

Altair and Malik exchanged glances as Granddad sat down next to him. "They said that you are going to Masyaf, where they will send you home."

Desmond tilted his head. "I don't remember that at all."

Malik growled, frustrated, and Altair scowled.

"Sorry," Desmond said quickly.

"It isn't your fault," Altair said, "but I wish I knew why the Apple was doing this."

"You are leaving us?" the daughter asked, and Desmond looked upset.

"I don't want to. I like it here with you guys."

"May I… may I travel with you?" Granddad asked the Grand Master. "So that I may say goodbye to my grandson, even though adopted?"

Altair frowned, but nodded. "We will give you an escort back, as well, but you may not say anything about what you will see."

"Of course, but I want to say goodbye to my grandson."

Desmond smacked the table and rose. "I don't want to leave."

"I know, Desmond. But you must."

"I… Why?"

"Why?"

"Why do I have to go?"

Altair frowned. "Allah help me: it's like caring for my child."

"What?"

Malik actually smirked. "His kid—your ancestor—has hit the stage of asking questions."

Granddad laughed. "Ah, I remember that with my child. Good luck, young man."

A dry smile pulled at Altair's lips. "Thank you."

Desmond flopped down. "I don't…"

"We leave tomorrow morning at sunrise. Meet us outside the gates. I hope the Apple doesn't erase your memory this time."

Desmond didn't respond. By the time they left, all thoughts of going home were gone. He wondered why Granddad and his daughter ate as if they were sad, and when he walked in to say good night to Granddad, he frowned.

"Why are you packing?"

"We leave tomorrow morning."

"Why?"

"For Masyaf."

"The home of the assassins? I thought you liked it in Jerusalem."

"We have business to attend to there."

Desmond smiled. "Okay!"

As he left to pack, he missed the "I will miss you."

The next morning, he was bright and chipper, dressed in the Knight uniform with Malik's sword by his side, and Kadar's doll tucked into his tunic. He had the box of paper scraps and thank-yous from the citizens for "killing" Altair as his granddad had suggested. He was bright and bubbly as they met up with the two assassins.

"You're coming with?"

Altair raised an eyebrow.

"Granddad said we have business to attend to in Masyaf. Are you coming with?"

"Yes," Malik said as he hopped up on his horse. "We are the ones you have business with."

"Oh, okay. But why—"

"Because the paperwork is in his home."

"Oh…"

They rode off, and Desmond spent the entire time trying to cheer his granddad up. He was solemn and forlorn as they rode to Masyaf, and he couldn't figure out why. Altair and Malik were of no help either in figuring out what was going on, but Desmond smiled through his confusion. When they stopped in a small village for the night, he wrestled with the children and gossiped with the people.

"He acts as if he has lived here his whole life," Altair murmured, watching him from a bench as he talked with a shopkeeper.

"What is the Apple doing?" Malik said, leaning against the building.

They watched in silence as two little kids taught him how to play a game. Finally, Malik said, "He said, when we first talked, that Masyaf had fallen in the future to the hands of the Templars. Do you think the Apple is trying to straighten it out?"

"The boy is not immortal, so that would make no sense."

"At least I am speculating," Malik spat. "Although, he seems fixated on the fact that he feels at home."

"Do you think the Apple is trying to get him to go back to Masyaf in the future?"

"Perhaps. But how could he tackle the entire…"

They looked at each other.

"There is something he had not said about the Pieces of Eden."

"No, no, he mentioned something about a prophet in one of the temples where they lie. Your descendant found it, and then Desmond did."

Altair twisted his lips. "Perhaps… None of this makes any sense."

Malik scoffed. "Of course it doesn't. There are things we cannot understand. However, the Apple is using him for something. I am sure of it."

"Perhaps," Altair began, thinking for a bit before continuing, "perhaps, if we are lucky enough, we will be able to see him in the future. Perhaps the Apple is trying to get him to return to take back Masyaf."

"By blocking his memories of the future?"

"Yes, and creating such a strong feeling of home, that when he returns, he will be driven to reclaim the lands to soothe his mind."

Malik looked back to see Desmond making necklaces with the kids, the game long forgotten. "Perhaps."

"I feel bad for his adoptive Grandfather," Altair murmured after a bit.

"Why?" Malik asked.

"It would be like losing my own child. I cannot fathom that emotion."

They saw his granddad sitting by himself, the saddest expression on his face. His eyes were trained on his "grandson" as he created a shoddy, but made with love, necklace. When Desmond had finished, he danced over and sat by his grandfather, tying it around his neck. They watched him hug the old man, who closed his eyes and hugged back.

"Your child will be an assassin."

"And I am okay when I detach myself to think of him as just an assassin, but when I hold him in my arms, or wrestle with him in the gardens, or hide from Maria with him, I cannot imagine… Will not…" Altair clenched his teeth together. "I do not know how he will let Desmond go."

"They have only been together for two months, Altair."

"That is more than enough time to become attached to a child."

Malik turned to watch as Desmond chatted with the old man, one arm around his shoulders as if he had been raised by him. The old man was playing with the necklace with a soft smile on his face.

"There's only one charm like that, I hope you know," Desmond said, grinning.

The old man laughed. "Good. Then I will always be able to tell your necklace apart."

He glanced at the small rock charm. It had swirling patterns in it to tell it apart from all others.

The next few days were quite the same: there was little talking save from Desmond, who tried his damnedest to make his granddad smile. When they walked through the gates of Masyaf, Desmond felt a tug so hard on his heart that he started jogging off. He didn't hear them calling out to him. Eventually, Altair was running beside him.

"Idiot, have you forgotten you're dressed as a Templar Knight?"

He skidded to a halt outside the gates. Here, he felt complete. With Granddad, he felt at home, but here, he felt complete. He reached out and touched the stones lightly. Altair was by his side, waving the guards off and explaining what was going on. He turned and jogged to the edge of one of the ledges, looking out over the land. It was gorgeous, and here was where he belonged. It felt like he had been here. The breeze tugged at his hair, which had grown shaggy, and he smiled. Inhaling deeply, he could feel the life in the land.

"He looks right at home here," Granddad said as he and Malik walked up to the gates.

Malik nodded. "It is his ancestral home."

The granddad was silent as he watched his grandson become absorbed by the land.

"I don't know if I can let him go."

There was a screech as a young child came running out. Altair scooped him up and threw him in the air, his eyes shining with love at the child's laughter. He kissed his son's head and hugged him tightly.

"You're home, papa!"

He looked at Granddad. "I don't know how you could either."

Granddad smiled warmly. "I remember that age with my daughter."

"Why is there a Templar?"

"He is a friend, my son."

Desmond jogged over. "It's beautiful here!"

Altair adjusted his child in his arms and nodded. "Come, there's something I must show you."

Desmond followed at his heels faithfully, walking with his Granddad, the box of thank yous in his arms and his backpack on his back. His helmet was on top of the box, and his sword bounced at his hip. He could feel the small weight of the doll in his tunic. Altair kissed his wife hello and led them up to the desk.

He pulled out a small, round object. "This is the Apple."

Desmond raised an eyebrow. "Okay?"

"Say goodbye to your granddad, Desmond; it's time for you to go home."

"What?"

Altair tossed him the Apple, and he caught it by instinct. It began to glow softly. He jumped.

"What's going on?"

"It's going to take you back to your time. Say goodbye to your granddad."

"What?"

He dropped it, but the Apple didn't stop glowing. When he looked at his hands, they were slowly becoming transparent, and he panicked, clutching his granddad close.

"I don't want to go!"

He felt his granddad hug him back. "You need to go, grandson."

"Granddad! I don't want to go! What's going on!"

He was terrified as he clung to his Granddad, the box and helmet in his hands shaking. He was absolutely panic-stricken as the Apple glowed brighter.

"We'll see you later, Desmond."

"Malik! Make it stop!"

Malik had turned away, unable to watch. "Take the sword and the doll with you. Remember us."

Desmond's breathing was erratic as he clutched to his Granddad. "I'm not leaving!"

"I love you, Desmond," he heard his granddad say.

"I love you, too," he whispered. "I'm happy here!"

He found himself in the middle of a group of soldiers. He had his box and helmet in his hands. The guards were staring at him. He glanced around and recognized the ruins he was standing in as the village of Masyaf.

"What the bloody Hell?"

"Desmond!"

He turned to see the three from the picture on the iPhun thing Malik showed him. It sent the guards into a tizzy.

"Bring them to Rikkin!"

The box and helmet were yanked from his hands, and he was bound and brought before a frightening gentleman, who was sitting and playing with the Apple. He was young, with slicked back black hair and a thin, pinstripe suit. His eyes were a creepy bluish grey, cold and icy. A Russian Blue—"British Shorthair, damnit," Shaun corrected him—sat on the corner of his desk, watching them. The walls were adorned with antique weapons, each polished and cared for extensively. In the farthest corners were beautiful cobwebs with large, black spiders crawling on them. There was a desk before him, meticulous and drab, and behind it sat Rikkin. There was a door off to the side, and several men and women dressed in servant's garb standing at the edge of the room. The wallpaper was gold in the dim chandelier light coming from above his desk. The burgundy carpeting looked more like blood from where Desmond was kneeling on the plush floor. Around him, there were pieces of Eden on shelves, and Desmond could feel the hum of their power in his veins. He could feel the grief from being ripped from his granddad, but the pieces of Eden seemed to be trying to soothe him.

"So, you are the almighty prophet of Eden, the one who will bring us down. Funny, you don't look that frightening, and you're dressed in a Templar Knight uniform."

Desmond looked at the Apple in the man's hands. He felt lost, kneeling in front of this guy, trying to accept the fact his granddad was really gone, and so were Malik and Altair.

"I want my granddad," he muttered, looking at the floor.

"Oh my God, it's really Alan Rikkin," a young woman murmured.

He whipped his head to look behind him to see the blonde woman from the iPhun Malik had shown him. He jerked at his restraints. Alan laughed.

"Tell me, Desmond, do you know the power of these pieces? After plenty of research, we've found that they say that there is a terrible beast locked inside of them, and that Those Who Came Before locked it away in these pieces, and that's what gives them their power. They found a new planet after it destroyed theirs, and started over with creating humans. They predicted that there would be one man who could access its power and would become its new vessel."

Desmond's eyes were glued to the woman. His body ached for her, and the hum of the pieces was driving him crazy. It almost sounded like a beast whining.

"Who are you?" he whispered to her.

She looked at him, wide-eyed. "What?"

"Who are you?"

"Desmond, you know I can't understand Arabic."

He tilted his head, watching her.

"Why is he speaking Arabic? What the Hell has the Apple done?"

He looked at Rikkin, who was messing with the Apple. When he touched it, it pulsed with energy, and Desmond struggled violently against the binds. He could feel the throb in his bones. Alan continued to play with it, and the energy pulsing through the room got stronger and more rapid until Desmond cried out in pain from the energy. The other pieces were joining in and causing such a painful humming in veins he felt that he might die. He cried out again, thrashing against the binds and curling in on himself.

"Can you feel the energy? Is it the god beast we heard about? Tell me, Desmond—is it calling you?"

That was the last thing he remembered.

When he woke, he jolted up and shoved the covers off the medical bed, running out of the door and into the hallways of Masyaf. He pushed people out of the way, listening to several people yell from behind him. He ran recklessly through the hallways, out the doors, and into the courtyard. Assassin novices were training there. He ran over to the ladder to the tower and climbed up, and up, and up, until he reached the leap of faith—his first one—and looked out over the land.

He didn't know how long he'd been out cold, but Desmond still felt the pieces within him like a drug. He looked out at the bustling little town: it's a modern town—it had been built back up. There were people walking back and forth, and he watched them move about. He felt it bubble in the back of his throat, and he threw his head back, screeching like an eagle into the breeze. It was loud and clear, and it felt good. He heard an eagle's call in return and a third. He stopped and looked again at the town. The people had stopped moving, looking at the man on the leap of faith. He screeched again, and he heard a chorus of three return calls.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"These lands are ours."

He looked to see the older Ezio smiling softly at him.

"They will not fall so long as the eagle watches."

He turned to the other side to see Altair, with his hood down, looking out over the land.

"They are yours, now."

He grinned as he looked over the lands of Masyaf. They felt right. "I won't let you down."

"The eagles of Masyaf have returned."

The breeze nipped at his underclothes as he stood with his ancestors on the wooden platform and watched the bustling activity of their lands. He felt powerful, standing there, the hum of the pieces of Eden thrumming in his blood. Everything felt right as he watched, and he felt like an eagle in its roost.

"Desmond?"

He turned, and Ezio and Altair were gone. The blonde woman stood there, watching worriedly with several others. He smiled warmly.

"Desmond, do you understand me? Nod."

He did so, turning back to watch his lands. He sat on the platform and let one leg dangle from the edge. He felt his ancestors within his bloodline, and he was proud to have come from such a line.

"Can you speak English?"

"Yes."

"What languages do you speak?"

"Italian, Arabic. A little Spanish. Some English. French. Sit by me."

"I would feel better if you came off there."

He patted his lap. "You won't fall."

"Desmond…" He eventually heard her walk over and sit next to him warily. "Do you even remember me?"

"No, but I know that I love you, and every time I see you, my body aches for you."

She was silent, and Desmond dared to place a hand on her leg as she sat next to him. He breathed deep of the mountain air.

"Masyaf is a beautiful place."

She nodded, and he raised an eyebrow. Feeling bolder than ever, he pushed her back against the platform and kissed her deeply, humming at how good it felt. When she pushed against his chest, he was reluctant to go with the motion, but he was glad to see she wasn't objecting to the kiss.

"Desmond, do you even remember me?"

"My brain doesn't, but my body does. I feel like I should know you, and when I think about it, it hurts here."

He bumped a knuckle against her heart, and she frowned. He nuzzled against her neck, kissing the smooth skin there. She smelled like Heaven.

"It's me, Lucy Stillman. I rescued you from Abstergo Industries."

He hummed complacently, still kissing her neck. "Really?"

"Yes, and we—st-stop that!"

He grinned and looked at her, resting their foreheads together.

"I'm trying to talk to you!"

He laughed quietly and was pleased by the soft look that crossed her face.

"We hooked you up in the Animus. Eventually, your mind collapsed from strain and you fell into a coma after finding the Apple. You stabbed me, remember?"

"No," came the immediate response, and he frowned, still pressed against her. "Perhaps that's why I feel guilty?"

"When we were both 'better,' you woke up and got sent on a mission. You disappeared, and the Templars got the Apple. After you returned, we were here, and were dropped by the Apple in front of Templar company. You went ballistic. You were foaming at the mouth and seizing, and then, the pieces of Eden disappeared, and you... transformed."

"Really?"

"Yes. You destroyed all of the Templar army here as some sort of beast. We don't have footage because you destroyed everything except the castle. You had wings and the biggest fangs. When you moved, it was like watching a ball of light. There one second, and in a different place the next. Your eyes were like pits. I've never seen anything so terrifying. Desmond, you ate Alan Rikkin."

"He must have been damn tasty. What happened after I destroyed the Templars?"

"You collapsed, and the pieces of Eden disappeared. You've been out for several months, now, as we rebuilt the land."

He hummed. "I remember Masyaf from the past. I beat Altair."

She laughed: it was beautiful. "Don't tell Shaun that."

"Shaun? He's the man with the glasses, right?"

She looked surprised. "How do you remember him, but not me?"

"Because your beauty and magnificence is so overwhelming that when I see you, I forget—"

He laughed when she slapped his chest lightly. "Stop it."

"Do you not want me?"

"I—we're working!"

"So? We'll be working until we die."

She shut up, studying him closely.

"I have the feeling I have something to show Shaun. I remember thinking about him a lot when I was here last time."

He kissed her again, trying to get her to respond, and when she did, he took the kiss a step further and rubbed his thumb against her hip. She pushed him away, swallowing thickly. "D-Desmond!"

"You don't want my affections?"

"Not here. Desmond, I have four others with me."

He glances up to see four people in white coats, looking slightly embarrassed as they waited on her. He smirked and looked back down at Lucy. "So?"

He nuzzled against her neck again, running a hand up her side. "Let me make you mine. Let the others know that you're mine, just like everyone will know the eagle has returned to his land."

She scoffed. "I don't think so. You sound like Altair or Ezio."

He smiled against her neck. "I would never be them. Malik told me not… to…"

He pulled back and looked down the undershirt. He panicked when he couldn't find the doll, patting himself down. Lucy sat up, looking frazzled.

"Desmond?"

"My doll!" Desmond said, looking at her. "Malik—Kadar gave it to me after I dug his grave! Shit, where is it? It looks just like Malik, but as an assassin!"

He was on his feet, searching the ground. Lucy placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's in your room. Why don't you calm down, and I'll take you there?"

He looked over his shoulder to see Altair and Ezio waiting on the other two platforms.

"Can I meet you at the gates?"

She nodded, and he smiled warmly, kissing her once more. Without a second glance, he darted to the end of his platform and jumped, catching out of the corner of his eye Altair and Ezio falling with him.

He'd never felt so good.

**Drabble!Extras:**

Desmond lounged on the couch with Shaun, watching a special on ancient Jerusalem. He had a bowl of popcorn in his hands.

"And we have just found an older man buried in what must have been a graveyard. It's fascinating!"

They showed the bones, preserved by heat.

"Could you imagine discovering that?" Shaun said. "I wonder who he was."

"And here is the stone we found him clutching."

They showed a small stone with swirling patterns. Desmond sprang to his feet, dropping the popcorn and ignoring Shaun's yell.

"That's my Granddad! That's the stone I put on his necklace!"

Shaun's brow furrowed. "What?"

"That's my Granddad! The man I stayed with when I was MIA here!"

* * *

><p>Altair was at his desk, writing furiously. Malik walked in with dinner.<p>

"Still messing with the Apple?"

Altair looked up and smirked. "No. I have something much more interesting to document."

He held up the pages from his Codex.

"You know I can't read the code without breaking it first."

He frowned and set them down, pulling out Desmond's gun. "Think he'll miss it?"

* * *

><p>Lucy was frozen against the wall. Their mark lay in front of them, dead. Well, what was left of their mark. Her eyes slipped up to stare at the bright mass of energy clinging to the wall. Its legs were clinging to the wall and sticking out at odd angles. It was something between furry and feathery, if pure energy could even have a texture. Its eyes were bottomless black holes. When it hissed, slow and bone-chilling, Lucy could see its fangs.<p>

She blinked, and it was right in front of her. She yelped and shrank against the wall as it pressed closer. The energy snapped and crackled, and the monster hissed again and began to fade. Desmond appeared, and his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed.

"Shit, how am I going to carry him out of here?"


End file.
